


In Your Corner

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of cuddles, M/M, MCU Bingo, Mention of Alistair Fitz, Prompt: Protective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 01:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: Fitz is anxious about meeting his father, and Hunter offers him some reassurance and empowerment.-Est. Romantic FitzHunter. Rated T. General negative mentions of Alistair, mild coarse language.





	In Your Corner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Florchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/gifts).



> Written for @florchis who prompted me [this visual prompt](http://florchis.tumblr.com/post/174032177502) (sfw; in a kitchen, a man pulls his partner into a hug from behind), and also for my @mcubingo "FitzHunter >> protective" square. I'm accepting prompts (here or @theclaravoyant on tumblr), but am prioritising those that will help me fill my [bingo squares](http://theclaravoyant.tumblr.com/post/174958815476/prompt-me-mcubingo-edition). In the meantime, enjoy!
> 
> Est. Romantic FitzHunter. Rated T. General negative mentions of Alistair, mild coarse language.

Morning silence in the FitzHunter household was not exactly a rule, but it was far from unusual. This was for several reasons. Neither of them was what one might call a ‘morning person’, first of all. Secondly, ever since Fitz’s brain injury, he had come to appreciate the extra time of not having to have his brain-to-mouth connections entirely ‘on’, and Hunter respected that. Thirdly, of course, they’d simply grown used to a pattern. It was not to say that they never broke the pattern - they broke it quite often in fact – but taking the time to make breakfast together had become something of a ritual that they quite liked to protect. 

This particular morning, however, there was another reason hanging in the air between them; glowing from the screen of the phone on the counter, whose most recent message read: _See you then._ It sat like a knot between Fitz’s shoulders, a tension in his chest. He was determined to have a normal morning, a normal breakfast, but with every passing second, more and more negative thoughts, fear, and anger rose up around him, like water rising to heat in a kettle. 

“Today’s the day, huh?” Hunter asked, shifting and chopping the scrambled eggs, keeping things as nonchalant as he dared. This was a big deal, there was no doubt about that, but he could sense Fitz’s agitation and he knew how easily it could spiral. He also knew that his words, his touch, couldn’t outdo decades of somebody else’s damage, but damn it, he was going to try. 

“Yeah.” Fitz fidgeted, trying to resist the urge to check the phone again. He’d been reading the same message over and over since the night before, when he’d sent it. He kept thinking, sometimes even hoping, that perhaps he had sent a different response, or had only answered in his mind. Should he cancel? Maybe he should simply stand his father up. It was as much as Alistair deserved, or so Hunter insisted. 

“You still gonna go?” 

“Yeah.” Fitz swallowed his doubts, and nodded. He’d agreed. He was ready. Right? 

“You don’t have to, you know,” Hunter reminded him. “You could cancel. Or just stand him up. You don’t owe the bastard anything.” 

Conflicted as he was, Fitz felt a smile touch his lips. He could always rely on Hunter to leap to his defense, even against his best friends, his family, himself. But he’d made up his mind, and though it was hard, he had reasons for his decision. He was going to stick by them. No matter what. 

“No,” he insisted, moving on with his morning - pouring the juice, fetching a spoon from the drawer, putting a plate over the bacon to keep it hot – as he repeated it to himself for the umpteenth time. “I believe in forgiving people. You can forgive a person, even if you can’t forgive an act, and- and- and plus, it’s been twenty years. Maybe he’s changed. He’s changed enough to reach out, hasn’t he? That’s gotta mean something. I’ve got to give him a chance. Everybody deserves that.” 

_Everybody deserves that._

Something about the way he said it – so soft after all this time, all these betrayals – tugged at Hunter’s heart. He abandoned the eggs and crossed the room to wrap his arms around Fitz, who was still fiddling around with cupboards and bowls and minor tweaks they’d never usually bother with. Hunter pulled him away from his busywork, into a soft but powerful embrace, as if they were spooning standing up. Fitz paused, taking stock of the way nervous energy was making his hand shake and his lungs feel like jelly. He nuzzled backward into Hunter, relishing his grounding influence, and Hunter kissed his neck; first by his ear and then, a little more forcefully, where it joined his shoulder. 

“I love that you believe that,” Hunter whispered, fervently. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Some people only want your forgiveness to feel better about themselves, not because they’re sorry for what they’ve done. You deserve better than that.” 

“I know,” Fitz promised, murmuring back, though there wasn’t anybody else around to overhear. “I’m going to be alright. I promise.” 

“Are you going to tell him about us?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Are you going to tell him about you?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Are you going to tell him about the Pod?” 

“I _don’t know,_ alright?” Fitz gritted his teeth, and elbowed Hunter, pulling out of his hold and striding across the kitchen. He scraped the scrambled eggs viciously off the bottom of the pan, and turned the stove off before they could burn. His eyes filled with tears and he wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly regretting pushing Hunter away. 

But Hunter waited patiently for permission to approach from where Fitz had left him. Heart aching, wishing he could do more to help, he let his pain, his concern - the reason for his interrogation - bleed through into his final question. 

“Then why bother going?” he asked. “If you can’t share anything about yourself, if you know he’ll hate and belittle and bluster over anything that’s happened to you, why bother? Why put yourself through that?” 

There was a long stretch of silence, but finally Fitz answered: 

“Because I want to hear him say it.” 

Having found the words now, he found the strength to turn and face Hunter, and to admit to his heart’s desire. 

“I want to hear him say that he’s sorry,” Fitz explained. “The truth is, I forgave him for most of it a long time ago. I just want to know it was worth it.” 

“And…” Hunter posed the obvious question, stepping closer, as Fitz seemed to be resisting reaching out. “What if it’s not? What if he doesn’t apologise? What if he’s only sorry for what he missed out on? What if he wants back in your life?” 

“Then…” Fitz shrugged, but his voice was shaking. “I’ll tell him that’s not good enough. I’ll tell him no. I deserve better than that, and so does Mum.” 

“Yes, you do, and yes, she does,” Hunter assured him. “And I’m really happy to hear you say that. Now let’s get some food into you, hm? It’s hard to be tough on an empty stomach.” 

Fitz nodded, but he wasn’t quite ready to eat yet. He reached out for Hunter, who gladly embraced him, and the tension – between them, at least – was soothed. This time, Hunter asked no prickly questions; he simply rested his cheek on the top of Fitz’s head, brushed his hair and his back, and hummed tunelessly for a few seconds. This usually helped Fitz settle, though why anybody would want lullabies from him was beyond Hunter at the best of times, but this morning there was no relief to be found. It felt like Fitz was holding his breath, even when he spoke, to finally say: 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t go.” 

“What?” Hunter frowned. “Why not? I thought we just agreed you should.” 

“Yeah, and look at me now. Bloody crying in my kitchen, aren’t I? This is exactly the sort of thing he’d be expecting. He thinks I’m pathetic; maybe he’s right. It was a bad idea. Don’t even worry about it. Let’s just have breakfast, okay?” 

“No, not okay,” Hunter objected, catching Fitz’s hand as he tried to move away from the hug. With the slightest contact, Fitz paused, and looked up into Hunter’s eyes. 

“You are not pathetic,” Hunter insisted. “You’re not even crying, I know you can cry better than this. You’re just feeling a lot of things about meeting a man who abused you the first ten years of your life and abandoned you the rest. It happens. People are shite, mate, but the fact that your dad’s an asshole doesn’t make you pathetic. 

“Look at you, look at what you can do. You built a billion dollar plane with your bare hands. You stare death in the face every other bloody day. Your dad’s got nothing on you, and I tell you what, he’s never gonna know about this little moment of _perfectly reasonable feelings_ anyway, because you know how to look your enemies in the eye, now, don’t you? Have a little breakdown in your kitchen, so what? It’s not going to matter when you can walk out onto that battlefield and show him who you are. He won’t even know what’s hit him.” 

“You think so?” 

“I know so,” Hunter promised. He tapped Fitz’s heart. “I’ve seen it happen. I know what’s in there. There’s a lot of love, but also a lot of courage. It’s what made you answer after all this time, isn’t it? It’s what made you agree to see him. But it’s also what made you tell me just now that you’re not gonna let him walk all over you, and that’s important. As long as you’re prepared to walk away, he can’t hurt you anymore. Which means _you_ have the power. Not him.” 

“I have the power,” Fitz repeated. He wiped at his face in case any tears had slipped astray, and took a deep breath, as the suffocating tension finally gave just a little ground. “I have the power. He reached out to me, which means he wants something from me, which means I have the power to choose whether or not to give it to him.” 

“Exactly,” Hunter agreed. “And if he does give you any trouble, you can tell him your boyfriend’s in the SAS and knows where he lives.” 

“You know where my Dad lives?” 

“I can find out by two o’clock this afternoon,” Hunter said, and once Fitz gave him an impressed – if slightly bemused – little smile, began plating the eggs. He waved the spatula in Fitz’s direction. “You just say the word, and I’ll kick his ass.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“Your wish is my command,” Hunter promised with a shrug, and in a tone that suggested the offer was still very much standing. He kissed Fitz’s cheek on his way through the kitchen and out to their little dining table, and Fitz followed with a bowl of fruit, the bacon, and two glasses of orange juice. Once they’d ferried all this over, they sat. Fitz checked the phone one last time, reading over that final message with an expression that bordered on smug. It was quite pleasantly different, to see it as a favour being extended, rather than a plea on his own behalf. 

_I have the power._

“You okay?” Hunter checked.  
  
Fitz switched the screen off, and put it upside down on the table between them. He found it no longer itched at his soul or pressed so heavily on the space between his shoulders, and he smiled. 

“Yes,” he said. “Much better, thanks.” 

“Good.” 

Hunter reached his hand across the table. Fitz took it, holding firm, and they resumed eating their breakfast together in silence.


End file.
